


'cause we've got the fire (and we're burning one HELL of a something)

by DollyPop



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Bow thinks Catra is SO CUTE, Canon Compliant, Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Glimmer has the singular brain cell and yeets it into the distance, Healthy Relationships, Humor, Post-Canon, Romance, Silly, catra refuses to use glimmer's name, it smells WORSE than death, it smells like death, they burn the jacket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24574984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollyPop/pseuds/DollyPop
Summary: Adora's jacket has been weighed, it has been measured, and it has been found as an offense to olfactory senses everywhere. Now that the battle is over, the splinters of their tentative existence piecing back together, the breath finally released, Glimmer does what she has yearned to do for years:to yeet Adora's horde jacket into an impromptu bonfire she lit in the middle of her own throne room.AKA (to the tune of Mr. Brightside)Now she's burning the cloth, and Adora is sad, and Catra comes to the room and says "Why's it smell SO BAD?". Now Bow keeps crying 'cause "CUTE!!!", and Adora has Catra's hands, and Meelog's having a hoot, and Glimmer gifts a new jaaaaacket!
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 353





	'cause we've got the fire (and we're burning one HELL of a something)

**Author's Note:**

> y'all, i only have three moods when it comes to writing and they are:
> 
> horny  
> humor  
> and heaving from sorrow
> 
> (also, huge huge huge HUGE thank you to everyone who read my last Catradora fic!!! I'm so humbled and happy to be part of this fandom! Everyone who read and commented and bookmarked inspired me to go on a total Catradora writing BINGE.
> 
> Be on the lookout for a long-form Reincarnation Catradora fic. *cough* ialreadyhaveonewrittenandtheirsoldiersonoppositesidesofthebattlefieldanditslike3kaloneandthey'realsoballetdancersinanotheroneandI'msoexcited *cough*
> 
> If you would like to send me prompts or just see my absolute ridiculous posts, my Tumblr is https://dollypopup.tumblr.com/ !)

"we got the fire (fire, fire), yeah we got the fire, fire, fire-

and we've gotta let it burn (burn, burn, burn)"  
~Ellie Goulding

...

The tears prickled painfully, a burning pressure behind her eyes while she watched, horrified but resigned as Bow lifted his arm above the fire, locking eyes with her for just a moment before he released his hold.

“Nooo!” Adora squeaked out, her arm immediately thrown out, as though she could prevent what was happening. The _betrayal_. She understood why. Really, she did. It was for the best. But she never thought- Bow? Bow, of all people? Adora bowed her head momentarily, knowing she was too late. Glimmer, solemnly standing beside Bow, did little more than nod her head.

“The end of an era,” she called out, her nose pinched with a singular clothespin, forcing her to breathe heavily through her mouth.

Adora collapsed onto her knees, her lower lip wavering. “Goodbye. . .old friend. . .” she said, staring into the fire until the flickering embers blended with-

“Heeeeeey, Ador-. . .Adora. . .” then, quieter, “oh, for the love of- are. . .are you guys burning something? Ugh! Are you burning an entire _landfill?_ ” Catra asked, dumbfounded and swiping her hand immediately over the entire lower half of her face, tail puffed, partially obscuring Meelog who stood behind her, crouching away from the smell.

“Catra!” Adora called out, and Catra “eeped” at how quickly her head whipped around so she could look at her, the slightly watery gaze on Adora’s face making her heart clench.

Wait?? What if they were _hurting_ **Adora?** Was the fire hurting Adora? _Adora?_

Hurting Adora? Come on. This is Sparkles and Rainbow. They wouldn’t lay a finger on Adora.

But but BUT, her brain supplied, consider the following:

What if. . .they are?

Catra’s shoulders went up and her eyes narrowed, even as Bow made a soft “awwwww” noise. “Adora? Adora, are you okay?” she asked, forgetting Glitz and Blabber as she ran to her, forgetting everything, even Meelog behind her who purred out a “ _Mate?”_ that reminded Catra that, for the 15th time that day alone, she needed to speak to Meelog about not all of her motivation coming from considering Adora her _mate._

Or. . .or mating, the verb, either, for that reason.

Ugh, _Meelog_! Get _out!_

“Adora?” she asked, ignoring Sprinkles and Bowtie’s smug, stupid grins.

“They. . .” Adora began, blinking up at her, reaching for her hands immediately. “They. . .got my jacket.”

She grasped Catra’s left hand in her right, and Catra immediately grabbed at Adora’s hands with both of hers, her eyes concerned, flickering all over Adora’s face, taking in the pinched nature at the corner of her eyes and her mouth. If anyone so much as laid a finger on her, Catra would-

Wait, what?

“. . .your. . .jacket?”

Adora nodded. “My Horde Jacket.”

Catra blinked. Once.

Twice.

Hell, three times, just for good measure.

Then, she slowly turned her head, finally getting a good look into the fire where, yes, yep, Adora’s jacket laid, burning.

Oh. That explained the smell, then.

Glisten immediately piped in, “It was _three_ years old! I feel like I need to set a hazard spell for the scent alone.”

“It was _so_ much older than that, actually,” Catra muttered, remembering when Adora got the jacket in the first place. It was a marker of her special status, an article of clothing she could wear over the typical white top that almost all soldiers had just one of. The white was a reminder of simpler times, of when they were just baby cadets, and even babier gays, not knowing what they wanted, but only knowing it had something to do with the other. She’d liked when Adora got the jacket. It was a point of pride. Adora got everything good, even special jackets that other cadets or soldiers didn’t get.

And Adora chose Catra, even back then.

The correlation was easy to make.

How stupid, Catra thought, staring into the fire and feeling something ripple at her skin, like her fur was being pet in the wrong direction. Adora got that jacket when she was just 14. It had been hilariously unflattering in fit back then, baggy at the shoulders in floppy, foolish ways, and too loose at the waist where it puffed. She had to grow into it, over the years. It was lucky she did. She had filled it well after her growth spurt left her a few scant inches taller than Catra, and certainly more muscular.

Adora used to take her jacket off and put it over Catra’s shoulders before they went to bed, all but engulfing her. Teasingly, sometimes, joking that Catra was so small she could use it as a blanket. Sometimes, soothingly, Adora’s thumbs pressing, gentle and reassuring, at the crease of Catra’s elbow, leading her to their bed (and it _was_ theirs, no matter how many times Shadow Weaver left large, purple bruises splotching over Catra’s legs and arms and torso for it) after a particularly bad day.

It made Catra smell like Adora. She’d _liked_ that. She liked it even when she didn’t know why. She had wanted it because she wanted _her_. And, in return, because she would wear it all night, sometimes, Adora would smell like Catra, too.

In reality, because water was scarce in the Fright Zone, they really just both ended up smelling like garbage that remained languishing in the sun for hours. Days.

Okay, so by the time they were 17, that jacket smelled like _sin._ It made other cadets’ eyes water. As Force Captain, she once checked the dusty “Feedback” box that had rusted shut from lack of use (surely, unopened even before she was _born)_ , and found several old notes, increasing in intensity, demanding that Adora and Catra be sent on a mission to Sealineas just so they could wash, quote, “that nuclear waste field of a jacket”. 

In the fire, Catra watched as the thread that had sewed the claw marks she’d left took extra time to ignite, making the fabric curl and dance in the flames. There was stitching along the sleeves, and all on the back. It was Adora’s, she knew. When you only had a few changes of clothes a week, and weren’t going to get shit for years, you learn to take care of what you have. Adora learned how to sew, quietly taking lessons with one of the older, kinder soldiers before she got deployed and they never saw her again, even when Catra refused.

She was good at breaking things. She wasn’t as great at putting them together.

At least, that was the lie that she had told herself.

With no one to teach her, anymore, it ended up being Catra who would rip up spare scraps of fabric with her claws just so Adora had something to practice on. She’d rip pieces out of her own pants, even if it were frigid, would swipe an inch or two from a hemline.

But never from the jacket. The jacket was special. Catra’s clothes weren’t, but Adora’s were.

Adora didn’t need scraps to practice on after about a week of it, but Catra would never forget the look of concentration on Adora’s face when she would huddle close to a crack in the metal walls that allowed a sliver of light to seep through so she could mend their clothes after official Lights Out with a bent needle passed down to her in a battered tin box with just a few scraps of thread loosely wound in knots at the corners.

Did she do that, back when Catra finally laid her claws into that jacket? Back when Catra’s nails dug in, leaving gashes in the fabric. (Gashes in _Adora,_ too.) Did she curl up near a candle, have a much better needle, as she meticulously sewed it up, wincing?

Her heart throbbed.

“Oh, _fuck_ , how old _was_ that thing?” Glimmer asked, but no one answered her. Adora was too busy looking at Catra, and Catra was busy looking into the fire.

She’d hurt Adora. A lot. She’d specifically hurt Adora a lot while she was wearing that jacket. Her ears drooped.

She’d never been sentimental. There was no space for such, in the Horde. She’d never had toys or treats as a child, and only ever had one uniform after she grew out of her cadet t-shirt, an older style than other soldiers’ because that was all Shadow Weaver would grant her until she _proved_ that she deserved more. And she had things until they completely fell to tatters.

Sometimes, even after they fell to tatters. Sometimes, even when she was the one who made it tatter in the first place.

_Adora._

Surely, Glow-Worm and Curtsy were exchanging those silent looks they always did that indicated that they knew everything to be known about everything and they and they alone could understand the look.

Ah, fuck them. _So_ annoying.

(No, she would NOT acknowledge that she and Adora did the exact same thing. Absolutely not. This was _her_ sarcastic coping mechanism to hide how fond she is of the Best Friend Squad whilst also maintaining her cool facade and no one could take it from her.)

Finally, Catra glanced away from the fire, not having noticed that, entirely subconsciously, she had fully retracted her claws and was squeezing Adora’s hands reassuredly, swiping the raised pad of her fingertips over the back of Adora’s palms. She stared at their connected hands, the swell of heat in her chest blamed on the small fire that Bowtie and Glomper had set _in the middle of the throne room_ , before she glanced up at Adora’s face.

She blinked at her. Adora was a shit actress, even when they were mere babs running the halls of the Fright Zone, caught by some imposing captain who grilled them about where they were going. Adora would lie, but she would be _so_ obvious about it. The woman didn’t know how to be convincing in deception to save her life.

So, she _knew_ that Adora wasn’t pretending when she looked at her like that: like she was a long sunny day after unyielding winter, second helpings at the mess hall, R and R between a double shift. It made her insides feel squishy and soft, fluttering.

Catra hated how honest Adora was, sometimes. Ms. Open Book. Ms. Eyes-So-Blue-Who-Needs-A-Sky, Ms. Ugh Why Are You So _Pretty,_ Dumbass _?_

The way Adora looked at her. . .it was like she could touch somewhere in her without her hands. She felt Adora’s gaze on her cheeks, each blink of her lashes like a kiss on her freckles, the gentle curved slope beneath Adora’s eye as she looked at her fondly something so soft, it felt like she was running her warm, strong palms over Catra’s arms, making her entire back flex as though she were swirling her nails in the stripes of fur that got closer together and thicker the more they neared the base of her tail. Adora. _Adora._

Wait. Wait, there was a _jacket_ on _fire_ in the _throne room._

Ah, but it was _Adora’s_ Jacket, _their_ memories, burning up in the blaze. Their past, igniting. They shared a moment of mourning, clutching at one another’s hands just the barest bit more.

But maybe that wasn’t a bad thing, she thought, not breaking contact with either Adora’s eyes _or_ her hands. Maybe it meant they could smudge the ashes off. Catra smiled, coming to the same conclusion that Adora did, because she gave a gentle, tender, impossibly sweet squeeze to her hands, and Catra’s tail moved of its own volition to wrap around Adora’s wrist.

Oh, fuck. Was something else going on? Fuck. _Fuck._ Was she getting emotional?

Somewhere behind her, she heard Meelog give off an enormous, rumbling purr and- _hoe, don’t do it_ Catra silently begged, all to no avail, since Meelog made a thumping noise as they fell directly on their back, no doubt exposing their stomach.

Yeah, she was getting emotional.

“-think they notice?” she heard Glissando whisper, no doubt to Cereal Bowl, but she had selective hearing when it came to the two of them, anyway.

Catra took a deep breath before she released her hold on Adora, smile turning more reassuring, as well as just barely smug when she saw Adora almost immediately stretch after her before she caught herself.

_Don’t worry, like I’d be away from you for long._

Okay, entirely smug, because her fingers went down to where the hem of her shirt had rolled up just slightly, watching as Adora’s eyes immediately flickered to the slight stripe of belly she bared. Wow. That was _so_ embarrassing. She _liked_ her.

Catra’s canine dug into her lower lip in concentration before she tugged the shirt up and immediately over her head, unceremoniously dumping it into the fire, as well.

Before she realized that _she wasn’t wearing her horde shirt._ So her selfless act of ceremoniously burning _her_ remnant of the horde in solidarity with her perfect, dramatic, nonsensical girlfriend in order to cheer her up was. . .uh, actually just her tossing one of Grater’s t-shirts, that she had given her when they got back to Bright Moon because ” _that shirt has holes that are old enough to be Frosta’s parents”_ and “ _what do you **mean** you didn’t have time to wash it? for how long????” _and “ _for **seven** years!?” _directly into the fire.

“Catra!” Glowerella cried, and Catra went to retort, biting it off when she watched Adora finally stand up, too, now looking strong and powerful with her shoulders back and her eyes absolutely _glistening,_ the fire leaving warm licks of light creeping all over her face, over her small, swooped nose, and especially over the soft plush of her lips.

The room was silent. Catra exhaled, a soft sigh more than anything else, as Adora smiled at her.

“Oh, Catra. . .you stubborn brat,” she said, eyes crinkling affectionately in the ambiance. Catra’s gaze matched hers almost immediately, her tail ( _wait, shit, how did she not move her tail away?)_ now rubbing up and down Adora’s entire arm before she dislodged it, flushing, her eyes almost popping out when Adora grabbed the bottom of _her own shirt_ and yanked it up, leaving her, like Catra, in just a tank top and her pants, standing _in the middle of the throne room_ as she, too, tossed her _own shirt_ into the fire.

Fuck everyone else. Catra respected _Adora_.

“Oh, my god. Oh my god. You. . .you. . . _dummy,”_ Catra said, her voice wavering.

They grinned at one another, Meelog now absolutely _rolling_ around, and she cannot reiterate this enough, the _throne room_ of _Bright Moon._

Adora grinned at her, nodding, her hand already outstretched for her, and Catra bumped their fingers together once more.

Then, they both felt it. That electricity up their spine. The tingle at the back of their necks. They turned their heads at the exact same time until they locked eyes onto Glitter, who was looking between the two of them with the most blank expression in existence whilst Bow sobbed gently beside her, making little “oh god, they’re so cute” and “they’RE SO IN LOVE” and “Glimmer, my heart is so full it could be the MOON” comments.

“. . .if I tell you I got you a new jacket. . .will you throw it in the fire?” she asked, and Catra’s dumb mouth immediately opened, quoting some lyrics she’d heard blasting from Her Majesty’s Pain in the Ass Chambers.

“And if I said I want your body now, would you hold it against me?”

Oh, thank the stars literally no one looked at her except for Bow who hollered out “AND SHE’S QUOTING BRITNEY SPEARS!? MY HEART!!!”

No one looked at him, either.

“You got me a jacket?” Adora asked, sounding excited. There’s her golden retriever of a girlfriend: always hype for a gift.

Note to Catra.

Glimmer looked hesitant, glancing around the room, having realized that she had control of the singular brain cell, much to her absolute displeasure. That honor typically went to Bow, but the man turned into _mush_ whenever he saw Catra’s ears so much as twitch.

She did _not_ use that to her advantage, she swears.

“Will you throw it in the fire?” ( _Will you hold it against meeeee~)_

 _“_ No! No, I- I swear! No fire throwing here! Ahaha! Ahah. . .hah. . .ah.”

Glimmer’s gaze held momentarily, unblinking before, as though she were hit with lightning, she clearly decided that she didn’t want that brain cell anymore, and grinned. “Okay, great! I’ll go get it!”

With a _pop,_ she disappeared in a handful of sparkles. Truly, once upon a time, Catra thought that it was someone’s job to throw confetti every time Sprinkles poofed out of existence. Just as quickly, however, she heard a noise not too dissimilar to a spark as Glimmer appeared once more, holding out a long, white jacket with gold at the sleeves.

“Ta da!!”

She heard Adora suck in a fast breath and she didn’t even have to _look_ at her to know she loved it. Why wouldn’t she? It was exactly in She-Ra’s- _Adora’s_ colors, the white and gold becoming iconic after the final battle with the Horde, hell, even the shoulders, dripping in gold, were raised up to imitate the imposing puff of Adora’s last jacket.

It was. . .different. But not bad. Nothing Adora wore could really be _bad._

Adora broke away from her so she could run up to Galoshes, the two of them colliding in a huge hug, Adora immediately sweeping her up and spinning her around, saying “It’s so pretty, thank you!”

But then, from the corner of her eye, Catra spotted him.

Bowser.

Creeping, creeping, his hands desperate to touch her ears. Catra stared him down, not too unlike the two of them were cowboys in those movies Adora loved to watch on Runeflix. Bow’s hand twitched. Catra’s eyes narrowed.

But instead of a tumbleweed coming between them, it was Adora, who bounded up to both of them, getting right in between so she could immediately throw her arms around Catra, as well.

“What do you think?” Adora asked, her back turned so she couldn’t see Bow’s heart breaking in real time.

Catra’s ears went up, feeling warm as Adora put her hands on her shoulders and took a step back, letting Catra see the full effect. With only her tank top on underneath, Catra could see how the jacket didn’t fully close unless it was clasped with something, but the way it draped over Adora was-

“ _Wow,_ ” Catra breathed out, and Adora’s smile turned mega-watt, bright enough to give Bright Moon a real run for its money. Suck on _that,_ Glamzilla.

Adora’s eyes were impossibly soft as they looked at each other, but then Catra saw them widen slightly as she looked her up and down, her eyes settling on where the scoop of her tank top revealed a small tuft of fur.

And a lot of her chest.

“Oh, no, Catra! You must be cold!” Adora said, completely disregarding the fact that if Catra, literally covered in fur, would be cold in a tank top, Adora would be _even more cold_ , but she choked on her words when Adora whipped her jacket off and lovingly draped it over Catra’s shoulders, instead.

She didn’t even have it in her to sputter. Somewhere, she was sure Meelog was bright pink, purring loud enough to fill half of Glissy’s McMansion, but she didn’t care. Her own purr was probably filling the other half, her world narrowing into Adora and Adora alone. Oh, she was going to take _all_ of her clothes, now, but only after Adora wore them for a bit. The faint smell of her had only really picked up on the jacket’s collar, and Catra inhaled in deeply.

On the other side of the room, Glamglow and Bowling Alley had fallen against one another, awing gently.

And, at the doorway, King Micah whistled cheerfully as he walked past before throwing himself back to the opening and witnessing the scene.

“Glimmer! It’s your dad!!! Is the throne room on _fire!?”_

Oh.

So _that_ was where that brain cell went.


End file.
